


Sometimes It Is About Sex

by Devilc



Category: Friday Night Lights
Genre: Bedroom Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, Sneaking Around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-10
Updated: 2010-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-06 02:29:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devilc/pseuds/Devilc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim pays Landry a late night visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes It Is About Sex

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Hafital for the beta. Sequel to [Texas Is Known for Three Things](http://archiveofourown.org/works/48714). Assumes you've seen through episode 15 of Season One.

Landry's eyes snap open in the middle of the night.

A moment later there's a strange, sharp, hwa-plink! sound as something smacks the window.

Scrubbing the sleep from his eyes, he toddles on sleep stiff legs over to the window. Landry inches up the blinds when **hwa-plink!** something strikes the window again, loudly, startling him.

His eyes adjust and he sees Tim Riggins standing in his front yard, under the pecan tree, hand presumably full of pecans.

Landry opens the window. "What do you want?"

Tim shrugs as if it's obvious.

"What?"

Tim huffs softly, then says, "This is the part where you climb out of your window and come down here."

"Screw that, it's cold out."

Tim shrugs again. "All right, suit yourself." And then he's bounding across the lawn, launching himself off the planter, scrambling up the trellis, and stepping onto the roof of the porch with a swiftness and ease (doubtless born of a lot of practice) that causes Landry to gape.

"Gonna let me in? It's cold out here."

"Uh, yeah, just don't make a lot of noise or nothing. My parents "

Tim snerks softly at that and swoops on in. "Landry, I'm not completely clueless here."

Landry feels so ... strange ... just standing there in his plaid flannel pajama pants and his faded Metallica _Master of Puppets_ T-shirt while Tim's completely in his space.

And Tim's got this cocky half-grin on his face. "That was really cute, Landry, you in my face after the game."

"Well, I --" Landry starts, but then feels his face crack a huge, shiteating grin, and he says, "Hey, the devil made me do it."

"Devil makes me do things, too," Tim says under his breath, and kisses Landry.

No, no, "kiss" isn't the right word for this. Landry's sure that this is what people mean when they talk about "macking" somebody.

Tim's got laughter in his eyes when he finally lets Landry have air. "What? Penalty on the play?"

Landry can only roll his eyes.

A split second later the breath ooofs! out of Landry as Tim tackles him to the bed.

"Parents!" Landry hisses.

"Oh. Shut. Up." Tim whispers back and somehow manages to hold a liplock on him while at the same time peeling off that sheepskin lined jean jacket of his. Oh yeah, the man's a pro, because, like a split second later, both their shirts and Tim's boots are ... somewhere ... in the room and Tim's jeans are unbuttoned and unzipped and he's tucking his fingers in the elastic band at the top of Landry's pajama bottoms and it seems like it's all been done without coming up for air. Yeah, Landry knows that's impossible, but it _seems_ like it.

Tim presses Landry back into the mattress and his breath is hot and ragged in Landry's ear and he gasps and makes a sort of growl when Landry's mouth finds his neck. It's half-hand job, half grinding against each other, but it gets the job done, and Landry comes back to earth with Tim's sweat-slick body draped over him. He's got Tim's jugular pressed up against his cheek and can totally feel the pulse hammering away. He gives it one last little suck-swipe with his tongue and triumphantly giggles inside when Tim gives this little hitching sigh.

They lay there a moment then, softly, with a groan, Tim rolls off.

Landry opens the drawer of his nightstand and yanks out a handful of Kleenex, passing a wad over to Tim, and he wipes at the mess on his own abdomen. A moment later, Tim passes his wad back and Landry crumples it all into one big, sticky clump and crams it in the wastepaper basket between the bed and the nightstand.

They lay there silently for a few moments and Landry has a momentary stab of fear that Tim has fallen asleep, his breathing is so steady and even.

"Y'know, before I got to know you, I would have never, in a million years, guessed this about you," Landry says.

Pause. "Yeah, probably not."

His better judgment says not to, but Landry's got to know. "Did you and Street ever ...?"

"No," Tim replies in a "don't go there" tone of voice.

"Oh, um ..."

Tim sighs, "Landry, don't ... over think this."

With a sigh, Landry glances over at Tim's shadowy face.

Tim's eyes are slitted, he's got his head pillowed on his hands, and there's a sort of lazy amusement on his face. "I can practically hear the gears whirring in you head," Tim says. "This ... it is what it is. Just leave it at that."

"I'll try."

"Good."

They lay there a few heartbeats more, then Tim groans and pulls his jeans back up before crawling off the bed. He fumbles in the shadows for a few moments and then Landry sees a rusty black t-shirt slide over the sort of six-pack abs that he will never, in a million years, have. A moment later, Tim shrugs on his jacket, and then he's slipping back out the window and shinnying down the trellis with the same practiced ease he showed earlier.

When morning comes, Landry's mother yells that it's laundry day. He finds the shirt he had on last night inside out on the floor next to the desk. He bundles it into the basket and heads downstairs.

Late that afternoon Landry meets Tim in the bleachers so that he can start reading _The Great Gatsby_ to him. The stiff breeze is chilly enough to make Tim for once button his ratty old flannel shirt all the way up, despite the warmth of his jacket.

Tim hands him a rolled up bundle of faded black cloth.

It's his _Master of Puppets_ shirt.

Landry snickers.

"Yeah, well, you should've seen me praying that Billy wouldn't ask which one of the rally girls was into Metallica when he busted me sneaking back in last night." Tim unbuttons his collar just enough to show Landry the edge of a hickey on his neck. "You're a fucking vampire, man."

Landry can't look at Tim for the next week without flashing an evil grin.

**Author's Note:**

> Continues in [Not The Last Tim &amp; Landry Show](http://archiveofourown.org/works/48726)


End file.
